Oversight (The Community Book 2)

by Santino Hassell

  Holden was now wondering whether the family aspect of the Community was shifting away. As a kid, it had all seemed so magical—the outreach they’d done to find young or disconnected psychics, and the feeling of belonging that Holden had picked up from everyone during the holiday parties and gatherings, group vacations, campouts, community-building trips . . . But over time things had changed. Or, maybe, after the last few months, he’d begun to change into someone more cynical. Someone warier. And the more his father pushed back on any questions about their actions, the more his wariness heightened.

  Holden reached the stairs just as Six returned to them. They stopped at the same time, facing each other with some awkwardness before Six headed to the upper level without a word. Sighing again, Holden followed. Once they were in the cramped office, Holden said, “I thought you could show me how to use my new security system. Do you have time?”

  “Yes. I was just adjusting the cameras outside.”

  Six was sitting behind the desk, once again clad in a skintight polo buttoned up all the way but this time paired with cargo pants. As he sat on the edge of the chair with his thighs spread, Holden was waiting for all those muscles to burst the seams.

  “Why do you dress like an extra from Jersey Shore?”

  “I’d have to pop my collar for that.” He only paused in his typing when a surprised laugh fell from Holden’s mouth. Raising an eyebrow, Six said, “Was I not supposed to get the reference?”

  “Well, you’re a cyborg, so I didn’t think you would.”

  Six turned in the chair so he was facing Holden. He had on his default neutral face, but a slight twitch of his brow and lip betrayed possible amusement at the comment. Was there some getting through to him after all, or were they destined to stare at each other in mutual blankness to see who could emote the least for the next . . . however long he’d be here as Holden’s handler?

  “Not having an empathy chip doesn’t make me a cyborg. There are plenty of ways to figure someone out without feeling any of their vibes.”

  Holden crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall next to the desk. “As someone who was born with an empathy chip with elephantiasis, color me skeptical.”

  Six mirrored his post, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair with his thighs spread. The view of thick thighs and a good-sized bulge was a temptation Holden didn’t try to resist. He glanced down twice before managing to hold Six’s steady gaze.

  “You rely too much on your psychic shit,” Six said. “Not having those abilities makes me more observant.”

  “I’m extremely observant.”

  “Yeah? Then how did you have a full-on Investigation Discovery series going on right under your nose?”

  Holden pursed his lips. “I was supposed to guess there was such a thing as a psychic vampire in real life?”

  “Maybe not, but you could be better at reading people’s body language and demeanor when they’re good at shielding their thoughts and emotions.” Six pointed at Holden with his two fingers pressed together like a gun. “That’s rule number one—never trust another psychic’s vibes. There’s a good chance someone up to no good has managed to mask their vibes or project something different from what they’re actually feeling.”

  “Whose rules are these?”

  “Mine.”

  “Huh. I’ll play along. What’s rule number two?”

  “Don’t let your other senses weaken because all you do is rely on the sixth one. You have two eyes, a nose, ears, hands, and a mouth. Don’t forget to use them.”

  Holden grinned. “Don’t worry, handsome. I never forget how to use my mouth.”

  “That remains to be seen. I heard it was Stefen on his knees.”

  It was the best comeback Holden had been hit with in a while, and he couldn’t help snorting out a laugh. “Fuck, so you do have some kind of sense of humor.”

  Six shrugged. “Some kind. But don’t get distracted. I’m serious. If all you do is rely on your talent, the senses everyone else is born with get weak. And what will happen when one day you’re unable to use your empath chip?”

  “That would never happen.” At Six’s flat look, Holden immediately doubted the claim. He just couldn’t see how it would happen. “Fine. Why don’t we test my powers of observation right now. I read you and you read me, and we can see whose reading is more accurate. Except . . .” Holden held up a finger. “You have to be honest.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “Everybody lies.”

  “The only people who say things like ‘everybody lies’ or ‘everybody cheats’ are shitty people who want to believe they aren’t shitty.”

  “Heh. You may be onto something there.” Holden pressed his shoulder blades against the wall, jutting out his hips and torso. Six didn’t move despite the decreased proximity, but his eyes didn’t stray either. “Okay. You go first.”

  Six stood to full height, a couple of inches taller. Holden tensed as if expecting to be twisted and turned for a full examination, but Six just keenly stared while tugging at his beard.

  “You come from money, and while you love the things that gets you—like your tailored suits, expensive cologne, and high-dollar shaving equipment—you hate that everyone in the Community knows it. You hate that they know your father invested in this club and that he owns more of a share than you do.”

  Holden’s back went straight, his hands closing into tight fists. Six sat on the edge of the desk.

  “You’ve never had a real job before, and you’ve never had a real boss, so you don’t know how to be one. You’re like a kid in a candy store with all of these people to order around but also socialize with, and deep down you worry they actually can’t stand you. They just do what you say because you’re the boss and your last name is Payne.”

  Why had Holden thought this would be fun? Humiliation was the quickest entry point to rage, and he could feel anger soaring through his body to heat the collar of his four-figure, tailored shirt. Dampening his lips and widening his stance, he asked, “Anything else? Or was the purpose of your analysis just to tell me my staff doesn’t like me?”

  For the first time, Six’s mouth stretched into a smile. Not a smirk, not a teeth-baring grin, just the subtlest shift of his lips that made him look softer and more approachable. “This isn’t about them. I have no fucking clue what they think of you. I’m talking about your fears, Mr. Payne.”

  Some of the tension eased from Holden’s body. “I see. Are you done?”

  “Almost. You worry about all those things because you know deep down people are intimidated by your father. You know that because you’re intimidated by your father. Your entire life is a double-edged sword of benefiting from his money and power while knowing it makes you look like a spoiled shit, and trying to do things on your own but being unable to assert yourself because he does things like issue you a fucking handler.” Six jerked a thumb at himself. “So you make yourself feel better by enjoying the money and trying to fuck people who aren’t initially interested in you because it makes you feel wanted and powerful when they finally give in, and it’s all you have.”

  How do you know this?

  The question was poised on the tip of Holden’s tongue, but he bit back on it. Asking Six his methods, or accusing him of having some secret ability, would do nothing more than verify the—unfortunately accurate—claims he’d just made.

  Holden had never felt so small in his life, and he’d never been so unsure of what to do with himself or how to respond. He stood still and held Six’s gaze and wondered how they would manage to get through the next however many months with Holden knowing this man had picked him apart with barely any effort at all.

  He cleared his throat. “My turn. But I need you standing.”

  Six stood again. “You didn’t say if I was right.”

  Holden leveled him with a hard stare. “Do I need to confirm it for extra mortification?”

  Six started to speak, paused, and shrugged. “G
uess not.”

  “Exactly. Now let me conduct my own observations.”

  For the next few seconds, Holden made a big show of studying his subject. Six didn’t flinch when Holden ran his fingers along his shirt sleeve, pulled at the back of his collar, or leaned in close enough to smell his scent—cheap soap and no aftershave, which made sense since he had the lumberjack thing going for him. He also didn’t react when Holden touched his hands or when he walked his own fingers down the front of Six’s shirt. There was no scientific reason for that other than wondering whether the man’s chest and stomach were as hard as they appeared, or if he was sucking it in. The answer made Holden want to go back to the gym.

  “Finished,” he said, smiling. “You ready for my analysis?”

  “Astound me,” Six said flatly.

  “I’ll try my best.” Holden resumed his lean against the wall. “You weren’t prepared to take this position. In fact, I think it was thrust on you at the last minute, which is why all your business-casual attire was quickly swiped from a rack at a discount store judging by the thin scratchy material and lack of a tag in the back. You usually wear jeans and T-shirts—which is why your non-denim pants look a couple of sizes too small. Maybe you stopped wearing them after you started going so hard at CrossFit.”

  For the second time, Six flashed that cute smile. There was a dimple in his left cheek. Holden was determined to make it disappear forever by being as brutally honest as possible.

  “But despite your muscular thighs and edible ass, you’re not used to intimacy. You’ve not been with very many people sexually. There’s a chance you might even be a virgin. That’s why you don’t react to intimate touches like me stroking your hands or the front of your chest. You assume I’m joking about my attraction because you can’t feel my vibes, and you’re not used to people touching you and it going anywhere sexually, so it doesn’t make you nervous. You, sir, are an island.” Six’s mouth flattened into a line, and Holden smiled broadly. “How did I do?”

  “Impressively.”

  “But how accurate was I?”

  “Accurate enough for me to be impressed.” Six turned away, once again sitting in the chair and facing the computer. “And more of a reason for you to not solely depend on your ability. You’re much smarter than you look.”

  “Oh, why, thank you. You’re so kind to me.”

  “You haven’t given me reason to be kind.”

  “What if I tell you that business casual is unnecessary, and you don’t have to wear those scratchy polos anymore?”

  Six glanced down at his clothes. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. You’re security.” Holden plucked at Six’s collar and rubbed the material between his fingers again. “Besides, you’re not my employee. You can do whatever you want.”

  “You have a point.” Six stood and the inches between them diminished. “I can.”

  There was a fragment of a moment where their eyes met, and Holden wondered if there was something more behind that carefully even expression. A spark in those fathomless eyes. Intrigue, a challenge, or maybe even attraction? Whatever it was vanished before Holden could try to do another read, and then Six was jerking his chin at the computer.

  “Let me show you how it works.”

  Releasing a slow breath, Holden took the seat Six had just occupied. His old desktop computer had been replaced by an enormous Apple product that was sleeker and fancier than any piece of technology Holden had ever owned. For all that he enjoyed spending his money, as Six had rightly declared, he didn’t use it for things like phones or televisions or devices. Growing up, he’d never developed his peers’ fascination with the new and shiny. He’d been preoccupied with the developing ability in his own mind.

  “Are you gonna touch the mouse or just stare at your reflection in the monitor?”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  Six snorted and began pointing to different icons until Holden navigated to the program that opened the interface that controlled the cameras. With two clicks, the entire array of monitors that had been in the cabinet were on the wide computer screen.

  “You can rewind it too,” Six said, hunched forward with his hand braced against the desk and his mouth an inch from Holden’s ear. “Keep going. A little further back . . . There.” Six leaned closer until his index finger nearly touched the screen. “What do you see?”

  Holden realigned his synapses to stop reacting to his proximity to a man he should have disliked so he could focus on the minimized monitor Six had indicated. After making it bigger, Holden clearly saw Elijah heading out of the club with his hood up beneath a bomber jacket and his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked younger than usual with his hair sticking out of the hood and his shoulders hunched forward, as if he was trying to make himself appear small and invisible. Unfortunately for Elijah, he would always stand out due to his wild curls and striking features.

  “How did you know I was looking for—”

  “Don’t just focus on the person you were looking for. There’s more to see.”

  Holden’s mouth shut as he frowned at the image again. There were the beginnings of a crowd swarming just behind Elijah, but as he scanned the faces and slowed down the speed of the video, he saw a couple of things. Two men turned in unison as soon as Elijah passed them, and after half a beat, they followed him out.

  After replaying the moment a second time, Holden looked at Six. “Do you have others working with you? Following him?”

  “No. I don’t work with anyone.”

  “Then what the fuck was that about? Who were those guys?”

  “I already told you.” Six stood up straight. “They’re watching all of you.”

  It was December twenty-third and exactly six months since the last time Holden had spoken to his mother.

  Intellectually, he knew that was odd. He knew other people didn’t go long spans of time without speaking to their parents, especially their mothers, but it only struck a dull chord inside of him. Ever since Jessica Payne had relocated to the Farm about ten years ago, their communication had been minimal. The explanation had always been that she needed to get away from the city and her personality was better suited to the work on the Farm, but he’d always assumed that meant she needed to get away from his father. Understandable, but he’d been bitter that his only loving parent had become nonexistent in his life. Someone who only called on birthdays and holidays to vacantly inquire about his health before disappearing into yet another void where phones or computers apparently did not exist.

  Holden usually tried to wait her out. See how long it would be before she picked up a phone and showed interest in her only child—since she refused to recognize Chase as even a stepson. Like clockwork, she typically called on Christmas. It was only two days away, but with strange men following Elijah and lingering in his club, Holden’s game of telephone chicken would have to be put on the back burner.

  He needed information, and he wasn’t going to get it from his father.

  As the drunken holiday party roared outside the office door, Holden inhaled his pride and made the call.

  “The Verizon subscriber you’re trying to reach is unavailable at this time.”

  Holden’s hand tightened around the phone. He tapped his finger against her name again.

  “The Verizon subscriber you’re trying to reach is unavailable at this time.”

  Staring at his phone gave exactly zero insight, so he glared at the screen of surveillance footage instead. The VIP area was teeming with people and the lower level was even worse. The holiday party had always been a big attraction, but he’d worried this year would be slower due to the recent controversy. The inclusion of a Santa’s Workshop-themed costume party had killed that concern. Every queer on this side of the East River had stormed Evolution in their most absurd elf costumes. It was so crowded that the psy population was diluted dramatically. Six was probably pissed.

  Holden zeroed in on the front door, but saw Six had left Stefen to his own devices.
A quick scan of the monitors showed that Six was standing in front of the patio door with his arms crossed and an expression of irritation on his face. He looked like the fucking Grim Reaper amid the green-and-red-sparkling people drunkenly dancing nearby. He’d taken Holden’s advice to stop dressing like a frat boy and was outfitted in faded jeans with the knees ripped out, his usual steel-toed boots, and a T-shirt with the Harley-Davidson logo on the front. If not for the radio at his belt, he wouldn’t have even looked like part of the staff. Which was good, because he wasn’t. Although . . . he could make himself useful at the moment.

  Holden jumped to his feet and strode out of the office, bypassing the crowd and evading the grasping hands of psys who recognized him and wanted his attention. Normally, he would have stopped to see if those hands belonged to someone fuckable, but he was on a mission.

  Six’s back was to him as he walked quickly down the corridor, but he turned to face Holden as if he’d sensed his presence. Which made absolutely no sense since he should have sensed . . . nothing. Holden filed that away for later.

  “Can you—” His voice was lost in the music. “Can you do me a favor?” he repeated, louder.

  Six still frowned. “What?”

  Holden clenched his teeth and dropped a hand on one of Six’s powerful shoulders before dragging him closer. Six tensed. He didn’t resist, but he also held himself very still as Holden hissed in his ear.

  “I know you used to work at the Farm, and I’m trying to get in touch with my mother.”

  “Why would I care?”

  It was a struggle not to beat Six’s head against the wall. “Is there a central number or something?”

  “Probably.”

  Holden released a sound that was very close to a guttural growl. “Can you stop being a dickhead for once, and just tell me how to call? Please.”